


The Snowed-In Coming Out

by titC



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Cold, Finally, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Pining, Revelations ensue, Snowed In, car broke down, stuck in a car, the "admit your feelings" challenge, they needed a nudge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-10
Updated: 2021-01-10
Packaged: 2021-03-13 15:42:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,933
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28655910
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/titC/pseuds/titC
Summary: We’ll spend Christmas in the Catskills, they’d said.We’ll have a great time,they’d said,you’ll see.Well, they’d seen indeed, and now Foggy was stuck in a car with a broken engine in the middle of Minnewaska State Park, and snow was coming.So.There was that. To look forward to.“What’s wrong, Foggy?”Oh and of course, Matt was with him.
Relationships: Matt Murdock/Franklin "Foggy" Nelson
Comments: 18
Kudos: 115
Collections: Bad Things Happen Bingo, Marvel Fluff Bingo





	The Snowed-In Coming Out

**Author's Note:**

> As always, much love to [PixelByPixel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PixelByPixel/pseuds/PixelByPixel) for hand-holding and betaing!
> 
> Written for BadThingsHappenBingo _Caught in a storm_ and MarvelFluffBingo _Car broke down_.

_We’ll spend Christmas in the Catskills_ , they’d said. _We’ll have a great time,_ they’d said, _you’ll see_.

Well, they’d seen indeed, and now Foggy was stuck in a car with a broken engine in the middle of Minnewaska State Park, and snow was coming.

So.

There was that. To look forward to.

“What’s wrong, Foggy?”

Oh and of course, Matt was with him.

“Uh, engine’s broken.”

“Yeah, I’d figured that out, but…” Matt’s confused face would have been hilarious in _other_ circumstances. “Aren’t you good with fixing things?”

“Plumbing yes, electricity somewhat, paint and drywall, sure. Cars? Not at all.”

“Oh.” And now Matt had the gall to look disappointed. Well, Foggy wasn’t McGyver, growing hair aside. Plus he wasn’t growing a _mullet_ , so. “Maybe we can call Theo? Or the car rental company?”

“I don’t have any signal on my phone; we’re in the middle of nowhere.” Or the approaching snowfall had already played havoc with cell towers, but hey, no need to panic. He wasn’t panicking.

“You’re panicking,” Matt said.

Foggy sighed. “You’re doing that creepy can’t-help-it spying with your senses again, aren't you?”

“Um.” Matt did his best not to look guilty; mostly he looked constipated. “And your voice’s gone higher.”

“Oh good. So I’m squeaky too, now.”

The wind was picking up outside, and Matt’s face did something again. Foggy sighed. _Again_.

“I’m not sure I want to ask.”

“Uh, the weather.”

Foggy didn’t want to ask, but. “What about the weather?”

“Your mother said we should leave before the snow, right?”

“Yes, she checked the forecast at noon.”

“I think it might not be just a little snowfall.” Ugh. “I’m not sure, because I’m used to air pressure in New York and we’re – where are we?”

“Minnewaska State Park.”

“Yeah, so not Manhattan.”

“No, not Manhattan.”

“Maybe we can kick the engine? That’s what they do in the movies, right?”

“We’re not in a movie, Matt.”

“Yeah, I know; it’s just…”

It was quiet in the car, even if the weather outside had decided to up its game. He loved Matt, he really did, but Mr. City Ninja wasn’t really the kind of guy you wanted to be stranded with during a snow storm in the middle of nowhere. That… was not his element, to put it mildly. And Mr. Control Freak _hated_ being out of his element.

“Okay, let’s plan,” Foggy said. “We’re in the car and the engine’s somehow broken; we’re on a small road that the car’s GPS sent us on and we haven’t seen another vehicle for an hour, plus the weather’s not great.”

“Someone’s bound to come, though, right?”

“They’ll look for us if we’re not in court tomorrow, probably.”

“So we just… stay put?”

Well. Not a lot of options, there. “Yeah.”

“Your mom gave us lots of food, right?”

“That’s a good point; I’ll go get it before we get snowed in.”

“We’re gonna get snowed in?” Matt’s voice had gone a bit high too (schadenfreude!), and his face way too pale. Aw, shit.

“Nah, but it’s just a precaution, a better-safe-than-sorry kind of thing. Don’t worry; we’ll be fine.”

“Okay.” He didn’t look okay, but Foggy manfully resisted the don’t-leave-me sad face Matt was aiming at him and left the car.

Fuck, it was cold, and the wind made it even more biting. He hurried to the back of the car, shouldered both their overnight bags, picked up the cooler and the tote, both packed with food, that his mother had given them, and threw it all in the backseat. He did a final sweep of the trunk and found emergency blankets (yup, good), a first-aid kit (no need for it, right? …who was he kidding, Matt could very well try and dropkick snow drifts into submission at some point then come back in the car bleeding and concussed from a branch in the face or something. So: yes to the first-aid kit), car stuff like jumper cables and a flat tire canister thing that they wouldn't have any need for, aaaand… oooh, a flashlight and an ice scraper, both good things. There was also a collapsible shovel, which was also (probably) a good thing, but maybe having to use it wasn’t an encouraging thought. He left it on top of the back shelf so they could get it from the inside of the car, and (fervently) hoped they wouldn't have to.

Once he was done with all this manly hunting and gathering, he slammed the trunk closed and ran back into the car; a quick look in the rear view mirror let him see what he could feel: snow on his hair and shoulders. It was going to melt, and that was going to suck: Bear Chilled, not Bear Grylled.

“Fog, you’re cold.” No shit, Sherlock. “Here, take my scarf.”

Okay, aw. A Matt-warmed, super-soft scarf wasn’t something Foggy was ever going to refuse. “Thanks, buddy. We should probably get ready for a cold night in so let’s bundle up; I brought our clothes in too.”

“A cold _night_ in? But it’s like 3 in the afternoon, right?”

“It’s going to be dark pretty soon. No one’s going to go look for us right now; they don’t even know we’re stuck. And then they’ll wait for the weather to clear. We’ll be fine; we just have to sit tight.”

“I don’t like the cold,” Matt said. With a pout, because he could sulk like five-year-olds could only dream of.

“Well, good thing mom knitted us some sweaters, right?”

“Karen’s going to be insufferable.”

“Hey, at least she’ll call you Harry Potter again; I’m just Ronald. _Ronald_ , Matt. _You’re_ the redhead!”

“Auburn,” Matt replied automatically. “And Ronald’s still better than Franklin, right?”

“Ugh.”

“And your middle name is – ”

“ _Please_.” He absolutely was not a Weasley, thank you very much. Although Matt’s glasses and tragic backstory and anger management issues and lack of impulse control were not that dissimilar to the boy wizard’s, true. Oh. “Do you think Karen’s Hermione then?”

“Hm. She’s good at research.” Matt took his glasses off before wriggling into his sweater, and the hair that popped out of the collar was spectacularly disheveled. “What?”

“You hair’s a rat’s nest.”

“Guess I really _am_ Harry Potter.”

Sadly, he didn’t have a magic wand to get them out of there, so they’d just have to wait and be patient. Not Matt’s best quality, patience. Foggy put on his own sweater and tried to ignore the whiteness all around them, the wind whistling around the car. How did it sound, to Matt? He switched on the flashlight when it started to be too dark to see Matt’s face clearly.

“Hey, Fog.”

“Yeah?”

“Maybe we should switch our phones off or at least one, to make sure we have one charged phone when we get service again?”

“Oh yes, that’s a good idea.” Foggy had brought a spare battery, but better safe than sorry. Matt turned his phone off and Foggy put his on low power, and then… then, the big elephant in the backseat loomed over them and the only sound in the car was that of the wind picking up outside. The car steadily grew colder too, and over the next hour or so they added layer after layer: another sweater, then a coat, a woolen hat, gloves.

“I’m sorry about, you know,” Matt finally said.

It didn’t help. Foggy didn’t want to talk about it.

The elephant grew bigger as the snow kept piling around the car and the wind shook it at irregular intervals.

“Your mother’s wrong; you’re going to find someone else real quick. You’re a great catch.”

Foggy sighed. Of course, _Matt_ wanted to talk about it. “I’m not looking to get hitched just because my mother wants me to.”

 _Where’s Marci?_ she’d asked. And, _What about that nice blonde you work with?_ She’d been relentless about it, from morning to evening. It had been supremely awkward, and almost made Foggy miss the good old should-have-been-a-butcher song and dance. Well, at least she’d tried to broach the _other_ thing when Matt had been in another room, but… yeah. She didn’t know about his bat ears, but Foggy sure did; he wasn’t likely to forget about it. He tried to make out the trees outside in the growing dark. Were they harder to see because of the lack of light or because the snowstorm was getting worse? Ugh, maybe his depressing love life was a better thing to focus on than their current situation. He turned to Matt and spoke again.

“Yeah, I’m single, and you know what? It’s absolutely fine. I’m doing great!”

“But you’re not meant to be alone; you’re always happier when you’re not.”

“I’m not alone. I’ve got friends and family, Matt.”

Even if said family could be very nosy and said friends pretty oblivious. Or selectively deaf. He had to have heard, right?

But Matt still acted as if he hadn’t. “I know how people talk about you, Fogs; I’ve heard them. Everyone loves you!”

Not _everyone_ , obviously. “Look, right now I’m not looking to hook up with anyone, long or short term.”

“But…”

“It’s almost dinner time! You hungry?”

Matt frowned but went with the subtle topic change. “Not really. How are things outside?” He tilted his head. “I can tell there’s snow and it’s cold, but…”

“Well, that’s it. But it’s also pretty dark.”

“We’re going to freeze.”

“Nah, we’re not going to be here long. I’m sure they’ll send someone tomorrow morning.”

“Maybe our phones would work now?”

Foggy doubted it, but he still dutifully checked his: still no signal. “I’ll try to send a text, but I don’t think it’s going to get anywhere.” He typed a quick message to Karen and tried touching his phone to the car radio – maybe that could help? – but it didn’t really seem to make a difference at all. “At least I get points for effort, right?”

Matt gave him the sad, wounded (but still handsome) duck face as his only answer.

“Okay, so mom gave us a thermos of…” Foggy unscrewed the top. “Oooh, chicken soup?”

“She did say we drank too much coffee.”

“Well, she could have gone with tea… but right now, soup sounds perfect. Can you hold the cup? I’ll pour some in.” Foggy gently knocked the upside-down lid against Matt’s elbow.

“Smells good.”

“It does.” Foggy closed the thermos and looked at Matt’s fingers, tight round the plastic. Matt _hated_ the cold, although he wouldn’t admit it and didn’t let it stop him from parkouring through the city in winter. “You go first; I’ll start with a sandwich.”

Matt opened and closed his mouth. Ha, Foggy had cleverly preempted his _oh-no-I-can’t_ protestations with the sandwich ploy: go Foggy!

They each had some soup and some pastrami goodness, but then they were back to square one: getting colder, and with the elephant still there. Waiting. _Looming_.

Matt wriggled in his seat, bunched up his paper napkin then smoothed it out over his knee, again and again. He was nervous. Well, so was Foggy, and out of the two of them Foggy wasn’t the _Man Without Fear_ , as the newspapers called Daredevil. So _he_ wasn’t going to say anything about his mother’s ramblings, nope, not Foggy. He was pretty sure Mom was deluded, but still. Matt had to have heard. Maybe he was pretending he hadn’t, to give him an out?

“Fogs,” Matt said.

Shit. “Yeah?”

“I’m going out for a minute.”

Foggy wasn’t sure whether to be relieved or horrified. “That’s not a really good idea.”

“Why?”

“Well, it’s dark,” Matt’s eyebrows went up, “cold, wet, and there’s lots of wind and snow.”

“I’m not pissing in a bottle. Or out of the window.”

“Oh. Fair.” Yeah, bladders. Bound to happen. In fact, Foggy’s was starting to make itself remembered, he realized. “Don’t go far then?”

“I’m not going to get lost.”

“Wind can be disorienting!”

“Yes, well. I’ll just follow the sound of your heartbeat.”

 _Huh?_ But Matt turned red and practically threw himself out of the car, letting in a blast of cold air and some snowflakes as he did. He stayed close to the car; Foggy could make out his silhouette but nothing more. He was keeping the flashlight on the lowest setting to save on the batteries, and he really, really hoped it would last until morning. He wouldn’t admit it to Matt, of course, but the idea of being in almost total darkness terrified him. Foggy was a city boy, and it was never really dark in New York: streetlights, neon lights, emergency lights, flashing lights, cars and shops and apartment windows… but there were none of those out there.

Matt used his other senses to navigate but Foggy was pretty sure he’d been a terrified kid, once. He’d been blind for so many years now; did he even remember colors? Or just… light? The sun? The moon, the stars? Foggy jumped when another gust of cold wind hit him. He shook himself.

“All bits still accounted for?”

“Nothing froze over and fell off.” There was snow dusted on his clothes and hair, but not enough that he’d be soaking wet in a few minutes; the storm must have abated some.

“Okay, no need to go look for fingertips or worse, good to know.” Foggy turned to rummage into the mess in the backseat and found a blanket. “There, you probably need it.”

Matt took it but didn’t wrap it around his shoulders yet. “What about you?”

“Me?”

“It’s getting colder.”

“There are more blankets. I’ll just pop outside and, uh, do the deed.”

“You could just open the door and…”

“ _You_ didn’t!”

“But will you find your way back to the car? What if you go too far and lose your way?”

“I’m just stepping out, Matt. You didn’t get lost; why should I?”

“But you can’t…” He waved a hand near one ear.

“I can see the flashlight, Matt.”

“Oh. Right.” Matt tilted his head before grabbing the light. He didn’t even fumble, and Foggy tried not to be impressed all over again even though he should know better by now. “Sorry, I wasn’t paying attention. Take it outside with you?”

Aw. Foggy grabbed it and tried not to melt at Matt’s sudden worry. ( _Tried_. Didn’t succeed.) “I’m just stepping outside, buddy. Leave the light here and I’ll follow it back to you.” Shit. _Here_ , follow it back _here_ – shit.

Foggy slapped the flashlight back behind the steering wheel and hurried out, feeling like an idiot. He could tell his cheeks were on fire: while he couldn’t be sure Matt wouldn't be able to feel the blood’s heat rushing to his face (maybe he would; who knew what he could actually do? He probably wasn't even consciously aware of a lot of it, after so many years), Foggy would blame it on the cold.

His business quickly done, he got back inside as fast as he could, slamming the door for good measure.

“Jesus, that sure got my blood pumpin’,” he said.

Matt grinned and held out another blanket, and they kept quiet for a few minutes, wrapped tight in their sweaters and coats and woolen blankies.

“It’s too cold to sleep,” Matt finally mumbled.

“Yeah.” Frankly, Foggy felt it was the thought of freezing to death during his sleep more than the cold itself that kept him awake. “And with the dead engine, we can’t even use the heater.”

“Right.”

“But hey, it’s only for a few hours; they’re going to be looking for us as soon as the weather clears.”

“Yeah.” Matt sounded like he was aiming for cheerful and failing to reach his mark by about a mile. Well, points for effort at least, Foggy thought.

“You know my mother’s going to freak out when she realizes I haven’t called her. Nah, she’s probably beyond freaking out by now.” More like harassing the local 911 operator into mounting a rescue operation in the middle of a snow storm, at night, without having proof yet they actually _were_ stranded.

But oh boy, stranded in a snow storm they were, and without any source of heat. Cars weren’t meant as a shelter from the cold; they were just a metal box. At least it was pretty airtight, or he hoped so anyway.

“Want to brainstorm Ms. Patel’s case?” Matt asked out of the blue.

“Right now?” Sure, it was as good a distraction as anything else. “Okay. What do you got? You met her without me and I haven’t looked at the file yet.”

The next… it was hard to tell the time, especially since Foggy didn’t want to check the hour on his phone and watch the battery drain while time stood still. So, thirty minutes? An hour? Hard to say. He kept the flashlight turned on to fight the dark away, thinking all the while that its batteries would probably die before daybreak.

But Matt, lucky him, got surprisingly intense about it; he was animated and his cheeks had even pinked up. At least _he_ was warm, Foggy thought ruefully. It suited Matt, more so than the paleness Foggy had seen too often on his face. Here in the freezing car it had been the cold, but any time he saw Matt go pale Foggy’s stomach dropped.

Sometimes, he looked bloodless because he was tired, at the end of his tether after pushing himself too hard day and night. Sometimes, he looked bloodless because he actually was, and every single time Foggy vowed it wouldn't happen anymore. He’d convince Matt to quit Daredeviling; he’d leave their friendship and partnership behind for good, maybe even leave New York… Every time was one time too many and yet he stuck around, because life without Matt in it was just plain boring.

But life with Matt in it? So much heartache, too often. And it pissed him off, both that Matt was courting death (or at the very least arrest) and all the consequences that would bring for the both of them and everything they’d built, and also that Foggy just couldn't… get used to it. Somehow. He’d thought he had, but the late mornings, the occasional limp, the day blood was seeping through Matt’s shirt as they were about to go to court, that time he was woken up by the fire escape outside his bedroom rattling in the dead of night only to find a certain someone groggy with blood loss and pain he wouldn't admit to, leaning against the bricks and grinning up at Foggy, his teeth white where they weren’t blood-stained…

Yeah. Sometimes, Foggy thought he couldn’t take it anymore. But he wasn’t sure he could leave and cope with not knowing how Matt was faring, either, so he kept pinballing between the two and it was becoming untenable. And yet that was what he had to do, right? Make up his mind. Either he couldn't accept Matt and his choices, all the facets of Matt that he was now trusted with, and he left. For good. Or he got over himself and put his money where his mouth was, and he stuck by his friend, warts and all.

Crap, it sounded like wedding vows, and that wasn’t the best thought to have. He’d had enough pointed questions from his mother the last two days.

“You’ve been quiet for a while,” Matt said.

“Yeah, sorry, I was thinking.”

“Not about the Patel case.”

“You’re really invested in this one, aren’t you?”

“She’s being treated unfairly!”

“I know.” Making her redundant because she suffered from post-partum depression and was not as productive an employee as before was certainly grounds for legal action, and 100% what they had become lawyers for. “But you’re acting like it’s personal.” More than usual anyway; Matt tended to take every case to heart, but not to that extent.

“I don’t have PPD,” Matt replied with a little grin. Asshole.

“Oh, ha ha.” Although if you dropped the post-partum part of PPD, Foggy thought he’d have a pretty strong argument to make in court about Matt and depression. “Have you ever thought about it? Having kids, I mean.”

The grin disappeared. “Children need stability, reliability. I’m self-aware enough to know I can’t provide that. But _you’re_ good with kids.”

“We’re not talking about me.” Foggy had hit a nerve, and his instinct told him it was something important in the _Vigilante Wrangling 101_ _: How To Care For That Special Dumbass In Your Life_ guide he was compiling in his head. Since, yes, okay, fine, he wasn’t leaving this handsome wounded duck; who was he kidding? He could entertain the idea, but he was perfectly aware he’d never act on it.

“I don’t think I have the right lifestyle.”

Foggy hummed, neither agreeing nor disagreeing. Lifestyles could change, but Matt wasn’t likely to do so as long as he could hear people in need and thought he could help. So… moot point.

“And I…” Matt sighed, and his breath made a little cloud. _Cold_. “I didn’t get the most… My father did his best, but he was all alone, you know? His own ma died when I was what, eight? seven? And then he had his boxing buddies, but they were not… he was on his own.”

“He loved you.” And like a true Murdock, made a very stupid final decision out of love and care, except he had no one to stop him.

“I think it was tough, for him. He was, uh. Flying blind.”

 _Idiot_ , Foggy thought too fondly. And so was he, for still laughing at that dork’s stupid jokes.

“I don’t know how things would have turned out, if… if Maggie had stayed.”

 _Oh boy, here we go._ Matt had never openly acknowledged the nun was, in fact, his mom, but he’d dropped a few hints, and Foggy was smart (it said so on his degree, or something like that). And also, Karen got chatty after a few drinks, so. Not that Foggy had purposefully given her booze, but he sure didn’t stop her when she talked about the intense and sassy nun from the orphanage who’d abandoned baby Matty. “But she couldn't. She couldn't stay, right?”

“She had PPD, too. She only had the church to turn to.”

And the church was a poor substitute for medicine, but that had been her only – ha – salvation. “She probably asked herself the same questions.”

“Yeah. But it’s,” Matt tilted his head back, “well. It’s God’s will.”

God’s will that a mother got so sick she thought all she could do was leave her infant son and the father, feeling so guilty she never truly reconnected with Matt until he almost died and ended broken and bloody in her care. God’s will that he got hurt again and again and that she had to sew him back up, stab him with a needle and thread to try and stop his lifeblood from leaving his body.

God, in Foggy’s opinion, had a pretty fucked-up idea of what caring for his faithful flock meant. Love, uh? It was supposed to be about love, they said. It wasn’t; it was about pain and death and blood. So much blood.

“I can’t have kids, Foggy. I wouldn't know… I’d just mess them up somehow. I’m not putting anyone through that.”

“You’re not your parents.”

Matt shrugged and closed his eyes. He didn’t say anything for a moment, just wiped his cheeks and breathed a bit weird for a minute or two before speaking again. “And I don’t – I’m blind, and I have these senses. What would I give them? Would they be like me? Worse off? Would whatever those chemicals did to me affect them? Would I be able to help them, if they did? How, by turning them into little soldiers for a war?” He shook his head. “No, no kids. Ever.”

“Well, maybe you can be a cool uncle, if I ever have any. Not that it’s looking likely, these days.”

“You’d be a great dad.”

“If it happens, it happens, but Mom _demands_ grandchildren.”

“She’s already got a few.”

“Not enough, in her opinion, and she wants me to provide my share. As you probably heard.” Since it was honesty hour, maybe Matt would admit it now.

“No, I didn’t. Well, I heard her start asking why you were single again and I thought you wouldn't want me to eavesdrop, so I went outside with the dog and your cousin and tuned it out.” Oh. _Oh_. Oh, well. Foggy felt a sharp, but short-lived burst of relief until, inexplicably, disappointment set in. Why? Seriously, _why?_ “I know you find it creepy.”

“Right,” Foggy squeaked. “That's, uh, thoughtful.”

“You know, she, ah, talked to me to. _At_ me, more like.”

“About what?”

“Same thing. She said it was a shame I wasn’t married yet or at least not paired off, that I was… you know, she was, um, encouraging.” Was he – yep, he was blushing, his cheeks darker in the low-power setting of the flashlight.

“What did she tell you? Matt, come on!”

“Uh, you know, nice things.” _Fine, be like that, Matty._ “And she also told me I shouldn’t be afraid to love whoever I wanted to love, that the church was more open-minded every day.”

“She _what_?”

“Yeah, I think she told me to be out.”

“Uh. She knows _I’m_ not entirely straight, but I think she’s always pretended I was.” Until two days ago when she’d told him his inability to keep a girlfriend meant he should man up and ask Matt out, _Put the both of you out of this misery for all of our sakes,_ as she’d put it _._ Foggy had made a probably very convincing fish impression, and she’d added, _You’ve been mooning at one another long enough, so just get it over with, will you?_ She’d just… said that. Foggy still hadn’t recovered. “But _you?_ You’re straight as an arrow!”

“Ha ha,” Matt replied. It was very convincing. Foggy frowned. “She means well?”

“Uh huh. Something you’re not telling me?”

Oh wow, that yawn was the fakest yawn ever yawned in the history of fake yawns. “I think we should try to get some sleep, Fogs.”

Nope. “Matthew.” Enough, he was getting out the big guns now; the full name sure got Matt’s attention. “How long have we known each other?”

Matt frowned. “Um, something like… twelve years? Give or take?”

“Yeah. And in all that time, have you always, only, had female lovers?”

“Foggy, I don’t really have time for relationships; you know that!”

“What about hookups?”

“I can’t.” Matt’s face fell a little, and Foggy couldn't help the little jump his heart did at that. “I’m too scarred now; how would I explain…” he shook a hand at himself. “…all of that?”

“You could, I don’t know, only have sex in the dark.”

“Risky.”

“Yeah.” Foggy considered stopping there, he really did. But he pushed on. “You didn’t really answer my question, though.”

Matt turned his head away; he was well aware he’d tried to dodge it.

“Refusing to tell me is a pretty clear answer, buddy.”

“Not in a good long while,” he finally said. “There were a few guys, but that was… a long time ago.”

“You never said.”

“It didn’t seem important.”

“Look, I know you, Matt. If you’re not saying something, it’s usually because it _is_ important.”

The flashlight flickered and died, and it was fully dark. The sound of the wind outside seemed to be louder suddenly; the cold was worse. Matt was quiet for a long moment, and Foggy thought maybe he should try and see if he remembered prayers from his childhood.

“Anna’s right,” Matt finally said. “The Church isn’t as close-minded as it used to be, but it’s still… it’s not something I wanted to be known. I just, uh, I just stopped.” Well, denying himself is definitely a Matt Murdock Special. “There never were a lot of guys I was into, anyway.”

“Yeah?” Foggy swallowed. He was a masochist; he was going to ask. He shouldn’t ask. He asked anyway. “You got a type?”

Matt laughed, a few tiny puffs of air that Foggy imagined were warm from his lungs and throat and mouth. Foggy missed warmth. “Yeah, I guess,” Matt said. “You?”

“Oh no, buddy, I asked first, so _you_ go first.”

“Aw, _harsh_.” He settled back in his seat and hitched his blanket higher. “I like, uh… smart, smart’s good. Fun, someone you can have fun with, someone you like spending time with doing nothing much.” His voice softened, and it felt like a very intimate confession in the dark. Which it kind of was. “Someone solid. I know I’m not, so…” Foggy heard his shrug when wool brushed against wool. “Smart, kind.”

“What about… yeah, you’re _not_ into supermodels? All the women I’ve seen you date were stunning; I’m sure your hotness radar also works on guys.”

Matt shrugged. “I don’t know.”

Foggy would bet he did, but didn’t want to admit it. Well, at least he hadn’t said _Someone who will break my heart_ or _Someone who knows more ways to kill someone than there are people in New York_ , right? Silver linings. “Anyone I’ve met? Come on, Matty; you have to spill now!”

“I told you; I don’t have time for that these days.”

“You said you didn’t have time for dating, not that you didn’t have time for pining.”

“Yeah.” He sighed. “What about you, Fogs? What’s your type?”

Oh boy. “Oh you know, just, uh. You know.”

“No, I don’t.” Matt shifted and, from the sound of it, fought with his blanket; he found Foggy’s arm and patted it. “Do you like… arms? butts? thighs? Strong and stubborn, quiet, bookish? Jocks, artists, family guys? Foggy, what?”

Whoa. _Intense_. “Um, you know. Someone it’s easy to talk to? Or not talk, just do things together, that’s nice too. I like… yeah, butts, thighs, arms, it’s all good. Uh, and lips. Strong hands, that’s good, yeah.” Matt’s fingers were like a vise on his biceps, tight and unrelenting. “Looks are great, but not everything.”

“I like.” There was a pause, and Foggy imagined Matt licked his lips. He often did that, when he was thinking; Foggy could picture it right now. “Things I can hear, or smell.”

“Like a heartbeat?”

“Yeah. Strong, regular. Breathing, too. I like… lungs.” He laughed awkwardly. “I sound like a creep, right?”

“No more than usual, buddy. Go on: heart, lungs…?”

Matt hummed. “The way they move… slow? Deliberate? Quick and energetic? In bursts, or flowing like water? I like…” He swallowed loudly. “I like hair. Long hair, because I can hear it move, brush against clothes and skin; it’s soft, and the longer it is the more there is to touch. Every time you turn your head, I…” Matt’s voice cut off abruptly and the hand retreated under the blanket. “We should sleep,” he said.

Oh, Matt. You goddamn _moron_. “I haven’t had long hair in a while.” He was growing it out again, yes, but it was just reaching his chin now. If he pulled on it.

“Yeah?” Okay, _that_ yawn was the fakest ever.

And Foggy felt wide awake, ready to shake that idiot until he spilled the truth, for _once_ in his life. “So I guess you’re a coward, after all, uh?”

“Foggy…”

“How long? How long, Matt?” He turned on his phone’s light; he needed to see Matt’s face. And Matt’s face was very pale, his uncovered eyes wide above the blanket. He looked… cornered. _Well, good_ , Foggy thought savagely.

“How long what?” he asked meekly.

Foggy was feeling anything but meek. Or forgiving. Or anything soft, nice, and gentle. He was _furious_. “I swear, Matthew, I’m fed up with your lies and dissembling. Can’t you just say the truth? After all we’ve been through, can’t you trust me?”

“You’re angry.”

“You bet I am! _How long?_ ”

Matt hunched his shoulders, like he was trying to make himself smaller in front of Foggy, Foggy who’d been his friend for so many years, who’d _put up_ with his _bullshit_ and… and…

“I don’t know.” Foggy was ready to yell at him some more but Matt finally said more than two words in a row, so he kept quiet. For now. “I don’t know; it’s true. You’ve just… since we met you’ve always been there, and at first I just didn’t know what to do with that. You made me take breaks, go out to meet people, stay in and watch old movies together, or… it was new; it was all new.”

“Yeah, that’s called being friends, Matt.”

“I didn’t want to lose that,” he said in a very quiet voice.

“Lose that? _Lose that?_ Did you really think you could? Did you really think I’d, what, kick you out of our dorm? You had to know I…” Foggy waved a hand in the air. “You had to know I was into you, right? With your super-senses that you hid from me.”

Fabric moved; Matt probably shrugged under all the layers. “Didn’t want to risk it. Lots of people react like you did; usually it doesn’t mean anything. And then you didn’t show anything and you didn’t make a move; you had your on and off thing with Marci, you had other people in between, and I… it was fine. It’s fine.”

“It’s really not.”

“Foggy, we were living together. If I’d told you then I would have had to tell you about my senses, or you would have found out, and then… even now, you don’t like it. You find it creepy, invasive; you said so.”

Well, Matt had a point. Foggy didn’t like dwelling on the idea Matt could hear every gurgle in his gut, could tell what he ate last night, could smell the slightest drop of sweat on him. “I just don’t understand why you don’t find us all disgusting. How can you live in New York around so many people? I’m not even talking about all the trash rotting in dumpsters.”

“It’s fine; I’m used to it. You hate that I can hear your heart.”

“I don’t hate it; I just hate the… consequences of it.”

“That you don’t have privacy?”

Foggy shrugged. He was over that, mostly; but knowing those very senses led Matt to risk his life every night… _that_ , Foggy didn’t like. But that was a conversation for another time, he decided; getting Matt to acknowledge people worried for him would be too much right now. “All these senses, and yet somehow you couldn’t tell I was into you. Looks like they’re not that great, uh?”

“You’re still angry at me. You’re right to be.”

“I…” Foggy sighed. Fine, conversation _not_ postponed after all. “Not angry, exactly. I’m worried about you, for a start. I’ll never forget finding you halfway dead in your apartment, or those months I thought you were dead… bad times, Matty. Really bad times. And all that shit you pull because you think you know better, because you want to protect us, or whatever? Buddy, sometimes I think you’ll never trust us, _me_ , to choose you.”

“You could lose everything you’ve built, Foggy. Because of me.”

“Yeah. But now I know, and I can make that choice fully informed.”

Matt didn’t reply. He was a dark shape on a darker background, a lump that the phone’s light barely outlined. The battery was low, and Foggy didn’t want to think about all the hours left until rescue. The wind had picked up and the car kept shaking, but it didn’t feel too unsafe for now. Cold, yeah, but probably nothing life-threatening, just very unpleasant.

Foggy just wished Matt would say something, anything. They’d jut put some things out in the open, and a certain someone, _allegedly_ without fear, was pretending nothing at all had happened. What could it take for Matt to make a move, or accept Foggy’s? He hadn’t been _subtle_ , right? He’d been pretty cl–

His phone died. Okay, he had a spare battery somewhere, he’d just plug it in and not use his phone to save power; they didn’t need light after all. Foggy was perfectly able to have a fi… a _conversation_ in the dark.

“You’re angry,” Matt said.

A bit. Not really, just… yeah. “I just wish you could believe me, when I tell you I’m not leaving. I know why; I know a lot of people did, but _I_ am not, okay?”

“I…”

“I’m really pissed at you sometimes, but I always come back, right?”

“I’m not going to quit Daredevil.”

“I know.”

“You hate that I’m not.”

“I hate that it hurts you; that’s different. I hate it’s going to kill you, one day.” There, that was out.

“Yeah.” The wind was howling now. “You know; I already got to be older than my dad ever was.”

Foggy hoped it wasn’t meant to be reassuring, because it really was the opposite. “Matt…”

“He killed himself.” Whoa. “Not directly, but he knew what would happen, and he did it anyway. He loved me; I know he did, but he still chose to die. That’s who I am, Fogs.”

“You’re not your father.” Suicidal impulses aside, of course. “And you’re not alone, buddy. You know that, right?”

“I…” He didn’t continue, but Foggy could hear the blankets shifting around Matt. There was a raspy sound, like hands over stubble, and it didn’t take much to understand what was happening. The storm outside might cover the smaller sounds, but Foggy knew his Matt.

So Foggy grabbed the lever and pushed his seat backwards, wriggled his arms out of his nest, and said: “Come here, Matty.”

“Fogs?”

“Just get over here, willya?” Matt hesitated; he could feel it in the tense quiet coming from the other side of the car. “C’mon; you _know_ I give the best hugs.”

Finally, Matt moved; he contorted his way over the stick and hovered for a moment above Foggy, one arm braced against the seat.

“Don’t start doing one-armed push-ups or whatever it is you’re thinking about, okay?”

“I’m not thinking about push-ups.” Well, now Foggy was a little bit (yeah, Matt was hot and had nice arms, so sue him; Foggy was a lawyer, he didn’t care), but only a little bit. Mostly he was thinking of softer, sweeter things.

“Well then,” he said with a tug on Matt’s blanket.

And Matt followed.

“Oh my god, Foggy, I’ve been trying to reach you both since last night!”

He leaned back against the headboard, reveling in his thick duvet, the hot meal in his belly, and the very warm, very heavy weight on his chest. There even was hair tickling his nose, and Foggy didn’t care. “Yeah, I’m sorry, Karen; we got caught in a snowstorm and our car died, so…”

She gasped. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, we’re both fine. Matt’s phone didn’t survive the cold and mine got drained fast, so I only saw your messages right now when I got it charging. I meant to call you about our court appointment, but…”

“Yeah, everything’s on hold until the weather clears. You’re both home now?”

“Uh huh. Still have power, and above all heating, so it’s all good. You?”

“Power was cut all afternoon yesterday, but it came back in the evening. What about Matt? Does he have heating?”

Foggy felt Matt smile in his neck, and he ran a heel against Matt’s (very firm) ankle. “I’m sure he’s fine.”

“What if his heating’s broken? You didn’t let him…”

Matt’s hand shot out from under the duvet and grabbed the phone. “Hi, Karen. No, he didn’t let me. Right.” a pause. “Yeah, and Foggy’s fridge is always better stocked than mine, so it was a safer bet. Mm. Mm mm.” Karen’s voice was just barely audible to Foggy, and he couldn't make out her words. “No, I’m not, promise. Staying in tonight, I swear. Yeah, see you on Wednesday, Karen. You take care.”

Matt held out the phone and Foggy wrapped up the chat, giving his word he’d sit on Matt if he tried to go out and kick some teeth in. Once he’d dropped the phone back on his bedside table, he wrapped both arms around Matt again.

“We’re going to have to tell her.”

“Noooo.” Oh, that was an epic whine. Sadly for Matt, Foggy had developed immunity over Matthew Murdock’s Woeful Misery. (Sort of. For a time. If he tried really hard.)

“Why?”

“…because.”

It wasn’t cute. Foggy had a handsome wounded duck hiding his face in his shoulder, and he wasn’t charmed at all. Nope. Nu-uh. He grinned at the ceiling like an idiot.

“Well, it can wait until Wednesday.”

“ _At least._ ” Matt wriggled, then added: “Not sharing.”

Aw. “Hey, I’m going to share my clothes and my food with you until then.”

“And your bed.”

“Yeah, and my bed.”

Matt was heavy, all sleepy nuzzly relaxed muscle, but Foggy couldn't even imagine telling him to move over.

“I’m glad you’re in my bed, you know.”

After they got rescued and the car towed to wherever – Foggy took the papers they handed him and shoved them in his overnight bag, too tired to think of anything beyond home, hot shower, hot food, warm bed – Matt hadn’t strayed further than a few feet away, and Foggy didn’t really have any complaint about it for now.

He didn’t plan on complaining too much about it in the future, either.


End file.
